fly on the wall

Visual Exploration by Mad Paule

I have had my share of personal crises; both physical and psychological.

With every crisis,, be it the untimely loss of a loved one or long periods of isolation due to seizures; there comes with each one  a cycle of construction and deconstruction, a transition, a slow growth, an intimate observation, the push and pull between the visceral and the rational, and the intensity of it only increased over time. This whole experience brought with it a lucidity, and I started to celebrate intimacy with people and my surroundings. The nostalgia, the memories, the stories evolved with every layer shed, and with new ones that replaced them, and still continue to evolve.

My desire for intimacy is expressed through my photographs and illustrations.

The process of doing it is physical and subjective but simultaneously ambiguous and objective.

And sometimes it is almost voyeuristic, making me a fly on the wall.

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editor's note

Volume 09

clay | chlorophyll | crimson

Grass is green where you water it. LC’s words float along over Misch’s guitar. It’s a phrase that feels so obvious, and I’m sure those who tend to gardens know this more than most, but it seems to land more than before. The impact noticeable, memorable, echoing through my being. Perhaps we’re ingrained to think it’s greener elsewhere. This patch is the problem and not whether we’re watering it. The key is in the watering. How we go about this practice is what defines our patch of grass. No matter where we go, our patch is, perhaps, the same. Some attributes and characteristics have been changed but the essence is the same: Us.

Stepping into Volume 09 of imprint, marks our third year. I am learning that this patch of green that we have been tending to for the last several years will mould, shift, and sculpt. This depends on how we water it and allow it to take its own shape. It has already happened in wonderfully unexpected ways. There is only so much structure or shape we can predetermine. Beyond that, it will absorb what it needs and reject all that is unnecessary. And perhaps, in this practice, we are changed. Our grass is watered as we water that of our writing, our image making, our practice, our magazine.

From light to dark, rigid to supple, new to old, there is so much in between that is bright and vibrant and unexpected. The practice of our magazine has focused on being open to what we receive; being open to deeply listening to what is shared; being open to work taking us to new journeys. This volume, and this year, will be no different. We will continue tending to it as we have done, learning along the way, from past seasons and present ones.

And yet, I know it will be entirely different.
But still.
It will be watered.